


Reciprocal Stupidity

by Fantasyenabler



Series: Too Stupid for Words [2]
Category: Marvel, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-11
Updated: 2010-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasyenabler/pseuds/Fantasyenabler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ping-Pong ball lifestyle finally catches up with someone Sam cares about.  Might it also have caught up with Sam and Bobby's brand-new relationship as well?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, X-Men 203 and its descendants may joss all of this, but I won't care if you don't. Also, there's a slight rewrite of what happened between Mystique and Bobby in 200, but I doubt anyone reading this will mind.

No matter how many times Sam goes through post-battle briefings, no matter who's running it, be it Nathan, Rogue, Cyclops, Storm, Magneto, Wisdom, or even himself, he'll never get over how lacking it all is when it comes to honestly saying, "_This_ is what happened." _This_ is what we all just went through. _This_ is why people died. _This_ is how we got _here_, the place where we have to figure it all out and try not to let it happen again.

(Lord, please don't let it happen again, Sam often thinks.)

It doesn't matter if everyone involved is completely honest, or if some of them try to lie or cover up. It's the fact that when it all comes down to it, even with multiple telepaths running around, they have to use words, and words are so dang inadequate when it comes to summing up a battle. In Sam's view, words barely cover the scarred surface of the experience. No matter how much you try to cut it up into little bitty pieces.

Lord knows Sam's tried.

Hell, at this point in his life, he's constantly having to try and explain it to someone in charge. What you see. What you bounce off of. What you slam into. What you break through. Who you hurt. Who you save. What you cut and bloody, and, in Sam's special immortal case, what you die and come back from.

(External or no External, Sam's definitely some sort of immortal. It doesn't matter who he believes about it all, Gideon or Selene. He's died enough times now to know it's true.)

What you feel.

That last, it goes without saying that it's the hardest, and it's probably why no one ever really asks for it, why no one in charge really wants to know. They can pretend, or maybe even believe that they want it, but in the end, they're relieved when the conference room door closes behind you and they can put the question out of their head and turn their thoughts back towards things they might be able to control.

Sam knows because he's felt that way himself.

(It explains a lot about why Marrow made them all so uncomfortable, Sam thinks. She wanted people to see the ugliness underneath. She wanted to scream, "Look, look, these are my bones. These are my bones and you can't say you didn't see them." She wanted that acknowledgement, that honesty, items they ultimately couldn't give her.)

So he doesn't feel any real irritation toward the leaders, merely frustration with the situation and himself. Because no matter how many times he's ended up _here_, he can't help thinking that there's something more he could have done, something more he should have done, and he knows that's a futile path to walk down, that it can't help but end in nowhere.

And nowhere's a bad place to be. Nathan taught him that. Nathan taught him that no matter how god-awful things were, you always had to have your eyes on a prize, your eyes on a goal, your eyes on some kind of endgame. Nathan always had a list of "Things that Need to be Done." Despite being a man displaced in time, or maybe even because of it, Nathan was always going _somewhere_.

Sam knows in his heart that Nathan is somewhere right now.

Sam just wishes he knew where that somewhere might be.


	2. Part Two of "Reciprocal Stupidity"; Iceman/Cannonball NC-17 slash

The night air feels warm to Bobby, as he crests the hill overlooking the pond where Sauron once broke up a summer afternoon. His body is screaming at him about how much it wants a cold shower and some sleep, how much it wants to collapse now that Exodus, and the Marauders, and their special-guest-cast-of-scum-and-wretched-villains have been beaten, but he can't afford to listen to it right now. He's fairly certain that if he does, it'll be a fuck-up of Juggernaut-sized proportions, one that not even he, the unofficial Lord High King of the Fuck-Ups, would be able to come back from.

So he has to take a shot at this, no matter how much he wants to be able to do this later. He just has to hope and pray that something or someone is watching over him right now.

He also has to hope that they don't want a more sophisticated prayer than "Please, please don't let me screw this up," that they understand that he does badly when it comes to answering the essay questions of life. He prays they do like Hank and Jean used to do and read through the lines enough to give him some points for effort, and that they recognize his poor coping skills and grant him some abilities that will at least let him _act_ like an adult for this one very important group of moments.

If not for his sake, then for Sam's, he thinks. Ever since he first met him, Bobby's known that Sam is one of "them," that small group Scott chairs and presides over, the ones that take it upon themselves to carry the weight of what the X-Men do and try to steer that poorly packed load the best that they can. It was this sudden knowing that caused Bobby to reach out to the younger man, to take advantage of the fact that they were relatively close in both age and maturity, and attempt in his own awkward way to lighten that load, to ease up that sense of responsibility, to encourage Sam not to lose sight of himself in all of the X-craziness.

To not turn into Scott or Cable, or even Rogue or Storm.

Because as much as Bobby respects them all, he wouldn't want to be them. Not for all the X-Boxes in the world.

Although he's gotten pretty damn good at Halo, if he does say so himself. He wonders if any of the X-babies would be up for being slaughtered later…

Huh, slaughter.

Bad choice of words.

Which brings him back to praying the prayer of the tactless. And thinking it's past time for him to be walking down to the dock.

He really doesn't want to do this.

Somebody, please help him do this.


	3. Part Three of "Reciprocal Stupidity"; Iceman/Cannonball NC-17 slash

The old wooden dock creaks under the weight of someone new, and Sam turns away from where he's contemplating its end, staring at the place where the ragged planks stop to give way to the water. He steps and pivots quickly, his shoulder muscles tightening, as he chastises himself for not hearing anyone coming down the hill, for letting his thoughts occupy so much of his time and attention.

Every bit of him relaxes though when the clouds pass by the moon and he can see that it's Bobby, appearing much earlier than he'd expected him to. "Hey," Sam says, stepping forward a little, his uniform boots thumping hollowly on the dock. "Thought you'd still be in the conference room, catching up with some people."

Bobby shakes his head, smirking ruefully. "No," he says. "There was no catching up to be done there. Hank and Scott…they're both just a tad bit preoccupied these days." He walks over to the nearest dock edge as he speaks, looking towards the water so that Sam can only see part of his face, even with the bright moonlight. His hands rest on his hips near where his uniform pants meet his bare abdomen, his uniform jacket having been cast aside during one of the earlier battles, the piece of leather not needed by The Iceman. "Honestly, I should have realized before I even tried to talk to either one of them. Considering how badly things went, and how many X-Men are either in the infirmary right now or are missing…"

He trails off, eyes flickering between Sam and the water, and Sam's not sure if he appreciates how Bobby's obviously trying not to say the name they're both thinking. "Yeah," Sam says. "I know. It could have been worse." He pauses and gives himself a moment to believe that. "But still, it was bad. Bad enough that it's going to be a while before everything gets back to normal around here."

"Normal," Bobby says, his lips curling around the word as his toes curl around the top edge of a plank "You wouldn't happen to have any idea what that would be for us, would you?"

"No," Sam says. "I don't imagine so." He stares at Bobby's feet and he remembers one of the few things they'd gotten to talk about a couple of weeks back, during their only morning-after together. How being stuck in his ice form for months had resurrected Bobby's dislike for trying to wear a uniform and using his powers at the same time. He'd likened it to being water sealed into a thermos—claustrophobic water—that is constantly pushing against the lid, trying to get out.

Sam glances back up at Bobby's face. "That's something that's beyond me, I think," he adds.

"Me too," Bobby says, dipping his head so Sam can't see his expression. "Sam, you know, with everything that's happened ever since that night we were in the city together…" There's an odd emphasis to the words "that night," and for just a moment, Sam's shoulder muscles twitch. "I've kind of realized that we really haven't had a chance to sit down and talk about anything."

"No, we haven't," Sam says, eyes narrowing, as if being able to focus better would help him see where this is going. There's actually a hell of a lot they haven't been able to discuss that they need to, that he'd been hoping to take care of now that the Marauders and their allies have been defeated. Namely, what they both expect now that they've gone from friends to lovers. How public they're going to be about their relationship. How they feel about Mystique's betraying the team and kissing Bobby with inhibitor-laced-lipstick to kill his powers, and finally, Bobby jumping out of a plane with no powers and no parachute—at nine thousand feet up—to reboot his ice.

Truth to tell, it's that last one that's been frontmost in Sam's mind. It's only the fact that they've been running from pillar to post since he heard about it that's kept Sam from fully realizing just how frightened that made him.

Well, that and what's happened to Nathan. His disappearing with people like Sunfire claiming he's dead and all.

He wonders, if Bobby had fallen all the way to the ground, just how much of a body would he have left behind? Would it be as little as might be found after an explosion?

Oh. Fun.

Fuck, it's amazing how hard it can be to get out of the habit of thinking with a PG-rated vocabulary.

"Sam." Bobby's voice sounds like he noticed Sam's temporarily leaving the conversation. Which is good seeing how Sam still can't glimpse enough of Bobby's eyes to read them. "I just, I need you to know. I'm really bad—really, really, really, world-class bad—when it comes to talking about serious stuff like emotions." Sam can get a look at Bobby's feet. His toes are curling around the edges of the plank again. "In fact, I almost didn't bring this up, just because I know I'm going to fuck up everything I want to say."

Sam shifts and straightens his body so that he's no longer looking down. Underneath his boots, he imagines he can feel the planks slightly bending beneath his weight. "What did you want to say?" he asks, in his best _Tell me How Many are Dead_ voice.

Bobby suddenly steps back from the edge of the dock, the moonlight brightening up his face again. "Fuck," he says, mouth twisted into a frustrated frown, "I knew I'd do this all wrong." He moves to close the distance between himself and Sam, his bare feet making hardly any noise on the wood, and stops when there's maybe a step and a half between them. He lifts his hands like he's going to reach out to Sam, then thinks better of it and pulls them back.

"Look," he says. "I don't know all the details because you haven't had a chance to tell me, but only an utter moron would miss the fact that you and Cable—you and Nathan—were closer than just ex-teammates. Since I'm at least a baseline moron, I can guess what you used to be, but I can't guess how much this shit they're saying happened on Providence, how much that's affected you, and I also can't guess if you even _want_ anyone to know how much it's affected you. So, after all that guessing, what I'm saying…" His hands come up again, only to fall back down onto this thighs. "I have absolutely no idea what you're going through right now, and I have no idea how you want to handle it. But I wanted you to know that even though I'm lousy when it comes to helping with stuff like this, that I'm here and I'm not planning on going anywhere." He glances down and back up again, one foot scuffing its weathered bottom against the ragged wood. "Unless of course, you want me to. Go, that is. If that's what you want or need to happen so that you'll be able to deal."

He pauses and takes a deep breath, like he needs to refuel before starting up again. "In any case, the point I'm trying to make here," he says, "is that I've been around X-types long enough that I get that we don't do things like normal people. So whatever you want, I'll understand. Fuck, after some of the shit I've pulled over the last year…" He shrugs and grimaces, like he's seeing something Sam doesn't. "There's probably nothing you can't do. Like I said, I'll understand."

The last sentence is followed by the deepest exhale Sam's probably ever heard, and then Bobby's just standing there. Waiting, Sam thinks. Waiting to hear whatever Sam's going to tell him, whatever that might be.

_Whatever_…and Sam can practically feel part of his mind being blown away by that. Totally, utterly, completely, entirely. Just perfectly blown away.

Because he's not sure that he can remember anyone before this giving him total permission to do anything he might need to do. Can't remember anyone not having some condition or caveat, some role or responsibility they had to ask of him. Not even Nathan, who often offered Sam a shoulder to lean on, but also expected him to lead X-Force into battle, to be the field marshal Nathan was teaching him to be.

It's amazing, enough to bring his spirits as far up as they were down just a minute or two before.

And the part of his brain that's still thinking knows exactly how it wants to utilize those spirits.

He reaches out, lays his hands on the bare skin of Bobby's upper arms and pulls him close into his chest. Bobby's head tilts up half in surprise, half in expectation, and Sam leans down and kisses him, as hard and deep as he can without breaking the skin.

When he finally pulls away for breath, Bobby chuckles.

"I guess that means I didn't screw up as badly as I thought I did?" he asks, smirking as his hands draw weird, arcane, only-known-to-Bobby patterns along the back of Sam's uniform shirt.

Sam grins as he wraps his arms tighter around his lover. "You're something really different, you know that?" he asks in return.

Bobby nods his head. "Yeah," he says. "I was actually thinking about it earlier. I'm Lord High King of the Fuck…" He trails off as Sam interrupts to kiss him again.

He doesn't want to argue with Bobby about what he knows he was going to say.

He has a much better way planned for showing him how wrong he is.


	4. Part Four of "Reciprocal Stupidity"; Iceman/Cannonball NC-17 slash

As he and Sam continue to kiss and press and push at each other, to basically take turns edging each other back up the dock to the grassy bank beyond it, a small voice in the back of Bobby's head tries to tell him that he should mind this. That he should mind their being so obvious, so public, _here_ of all places. That it's not smart and he should call a stop before they get caught up in something that would be very hard to explain to anyone who might see them.

Or hear them. Or read them. Or otherwise use a mutant sense to know what two of his/her supposedly heterosexual teammates are currently doing with each other.

He doesn't though. He decides instead to ignore that little voice, to put whatever mantra of insecurity it wants to whine tonight on mute. Because if anything good could be said to come from his time as a permanent ice sculpture—AKA his time as a semi-insane, mood-flipping, self-absorbed dick—it was that he realized how good he actually had it in regards to his life and his mutation, and how much of an idiot he'd been to let his stupid fears keep getting in his way.

That realization had hit him hard one particular night. Not too long before he started that desperation of a relationship he pretended to have with Lorna, he'd spent hours freezing over the faces in just about every photograph he'd managed to keep in one piece throughout the years. When he was finished trying to forget that he'd ever been anything other than ice, he was ready to promise his soul to any god or demon for the chance to be flesh again. Thankfully, no one like Loki or Mephisto popped up right then. Because at that point, he was convinced it was hopeless, that without some otherworldly intervention, he'd never be able to really touch anyone warm-blooded ever again.

Now that he has the chance to look back, he can see that what he felt then makes whatever concerns he'd had before his change, about touching certain people in certain ways, seem sort of pathetic. So much so that since he's gotten his ability to have a flesh-and-blood form back again, he's been slowly chipping away at those old thoughts and beliefs. He's determined that he doesn't want to sink into that kind of stupidity again, and if that means practicing a different type of stupidity no more than fifty yards away from two people whose opinions mean more to him than his own parents'…

So be it. He'll deal with what Hank and Scott think when he has to. Right now, he has more important matters to concentrate on.

Like getting Sam out of his uniform. It's really not fair that Sam only has one piece of clothing to pull off of Bobby while Bobby has to deal with gloves and goggles and buckles and zippers and fuck, is it possible that at some point Sam became a member of some religious sect that requires wearing incredibly-difficult-to-remove clothing without Bobby noticing? Because while that doesn't jibe with what Bobby's decided about Sam's most-likely-bisexual status, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing he's come across in his time as an X-Man. It would also be just Bobby's luck. He finally decides to tunnel his way out of the closet and admit he's a homosexual, and the guy he falls in love with while doing it turns out to have some sort of weird Johnny-Cash-Meets-Sir-Lancelot clothing fetish. It's enough to almost make a snowman cry in frustration, it really is.

It's also enough to keep said snowman focusing on pulling down zippers and not on odd thoughts about things like love. Because god, this is not the time for that. Not when so much else has just happened. They can deal with those thoughts later. Along with everything else undiscussed that's waiting for them.

Now is the time for finally getting his hands and mouth on Sam's skin, to map out the lanky frame that the weight of time has broadened and filled since Bobby first met its owner. He traces his fingers over the hip he just bared, trailing them up Sam's muscled side, up over his pecs and on to the base of his neck. He and Sam are still standing, discarded clothing lying all around them, and the four-inch height difference means that Bobby has to reach and pull Sam's head down a bit in order to be able to press their mouths together, to run his tongue over Sam's open lips, to wind his fingers in Sam's thick blond hair. Sam responds by wrapping his arms around Bobby's slightly smaller build, digging and dragging his fingertips roughly across the skin of Bobby's back in a way Bobby didn't even know he liked until the last/first time they'd slept together. He pushes back against Sam's hands, releasing his mouth, and Sam licks and bites at Bobby's neck, making him moan and tighten his own hold on Sam's long torso.

When he does, he's suddenly aware of Sam's cock rubbing against his abdomen, and his own rubbing against Sam's hip.

He's also aware of how cold he knows his hands are, even in his flesh form, and how much discomfort that could cause certain parts of Sam's anatomy.

His fingers twitch at the thought and his hands alter the course he'd originally set them on. He slides his palms along Sam's warm, wide back instead and sighs.

He's never really minded having a lower body temperature before, just like he's never minded being average-height instead of the extra-tall most X-guys seem to come in.

But he has to admit that he's beginning to wonder how they're going to do this now, how they're going to make this work without lying down and picking up some heavy-duty grass stains.

Maybe they should go inside after all.

Or maybe they should take advantage of being so close to Bobby's favorite element. Compound. Whatever. That stuff certain Not-Bobby people refer to as H2O.

Certain Not-Bobby people that Bobby will not think of again from this point forward, thank you very much.

"Hey," he says, pushing lightly against Sam's arms so that he can step back a little and make Sam look up from the marks he's creating on Bobby's neck. Sam shifts so that Bobby can see his face, and his intent expression causes Bobby to lick his lips even as he speaks. "Try not to be scared by this, but I think I've got an idea."


	5. Part Five of "Reciprocal Stupidity"; Iceman/Cannonball NC-17 slash

The warm night means the water's not that cold, thank the lord, which in turn means that even though Sam wasn't sure about this idea at first, he's starting to see its advantages. The pond water's not swimming pool clean, but that's not about to bother Sam, considering how little he got to swim in actual pools before he came to Xavier's. Besides, he'd feel weird doing this in someone's pool, or at the very least, he'd feel the need afterward to go hunting for the chlorine.

He decides not to tell Bobby about that. He knows that Bobby already thinks he's got an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Best not to give him more ammo for the teasing wars.

Instead, he chooses to focus on how easy it is to float so that he and Bobby are face to face without either one of them having to bend or stretch parts of their bodies, primarily by pulling Bobby's wet, slick body against him and prying open his equally wet mouth with his tongue. Bobby's lips part, his mouth pressing back hard, and he wraps his arms and legs around Sam's torso, trapping both of their cocks in-between their bodies. The pressure causes Sam to moan, and when he does, Bobby makes the most of it, pursuing Sam's tongue back into his mouth, shifting his lips over and across Sam's in a rhythm Sam feels compelled to match. Bobby's hands are in Sam's hair again, and Sam returns the gesture, carding his own fingers through Bobby's finer, sandy locks. Bobby groans in response, and shifts, and Sam moans again when the motion rubs Bobby's abdominal muscles over Sam's cock. He's tempted to grab Bobby around the waist and make him move that way again. He wonders how Bobby would react if he did.

Turns out he doesn't have to wonder. When Bobby moves his hands to the top of Sam's shoulders and uses the leverage to start rubbing his body against Sam's in earnest, Bobby's waist suddenly becomes the natural place to put Sam's hands. His fingers grip the slightly cold flesh tightly, and he adds his own strength to Bobby's efforts, lifting his lover's body, so that Bobby can get higher and closer with each successive thrust. The water splashes around and slides between them, easing their way as skin and muscle slides across skin and muscle more and more and more and more.

Sam's hands clench harder, hard enough to leave bruises, bruises that will match the marks Sam can already feel forming on the top of his shoulders. They're both fighting for this, Sam thinks, sort of the same way he and Nathan used to do, every time one or both of them came back from a dangerous battle.

Battles a lot like the ones that have happened over the last few days.

Nathan, he thinks, and unexpectedly, he's back to that mental place he was earlier tonight. Where he was comparing the amount of remains left after an explosion to the amount of remains left after a nine-thousand-foot freefall.

Oh. Fuck.

His hands clench even harder than they were before.

If Bobby notices that change, he gives no sign, but Sam can tell he notices when Sam breaks their rhythm by grabbing the back of Bobby's head and pulling him in for a demanding kiss. He can also tell when he tugs at Bobby's hair, tearing their mouths away from each other, and exposing his neck so that Sam can nip at the skin that's already losing its redness from earlier. To bite and suck and kiss and see if he can't convince more of Bobby's blood to stop turning back into what Sam's beginning to think is pure ice water, and to gather and pink beneath the surface of Bobby's skin. There's some gasping as he licks and a bit of shifting under Sam's hands that tells him Bobby's considering breaking out of his hold. But ultimately, he doesn't. Instead, he gives in and lets Sam have his way. Whatever that might be.

Sam considers what he really wants, as the hand not pulling at Bobby's hair slides over the curve of his bare thighs and ass and brushes against the rim of Bobby's hole. As with just about everything else, they haven't had a chance to talk about this, about what they both are and aren't experienced with, about what they'd like to try with each other, and the truth is they still have a lot of other sexual options to choose from.

But as all of Sam's lovers have told him, Sam's always been about the big emotional gestures. Especially when his life works so they can go hand and hand with the physical ones.

So, fucking Bobby is sounding better and better to Sam every second, as his fingertips brush along that rim again and again. His teeth graze the skin right under Bobby's jaw, nipping lightly, and he's certain the gasps he's hearing are turning into whimpers.

His cock twitches when he thinks about being buried in Bobby while he's making those sounds.

It twitches again when he thinks about Bobby making those sounds while being buried in him.

Unfortunately, Sam has to man up and tell it that they're not ready for this, either emotionally or logistically.

But that doesn't mean there isn't something that Sam wants to do. Now, when he's been given any and all permission for whatever he might like to try.

He pulls back and away from Bobby, so that he can see his face. "You know what you said to me a little while ago? About how I shouldn't be scared by your having an idea?"

He's vaguely gratified by the dazed way Bobby stares at him, blue eyes totally unfocused. "Yeah," he says. "Why?"

Sam grins. He can't help it. "Well, I've got an idea of my own I think we'd like to try. Provided you don't mind having to use your powers some more tonight, that is."

"What?" Bobby shakes his head, and Sam knows that at this point, he's totally lost him.

"C'mere," he says, swimming backwards and pulling Bobby with him. "I'll show you what I'm talking about."

Ultimately, it doesn't take much to show Bobby what Sam wants, and in only a few minutes, Bobby's shaped a couple of ice handholds to ring and cover the rough wood of two of the dock supports with no problems at all.

It's figuring out who goes where that's the problem.

Sam shakes his head. "I wasn't planning on asking you to do this. Least not until we'd had a chance to talk about it some."

"I know," Bobby says, running his hand over an ice handle, shaping it a bit more smoothly. "But even if we're quick about this, you're going to get frostbite from these things. And I don't know about you, but that's not the kind of injury I want to be trying to explain away to people."

He drops his hand back into the water, rubbing it against his stomach, like he's trying to heat up his palm or something. "Besides," he says, looking somewhere between Sam and the water beyond, "I want to. I honestly want to."

Sam floats a little closer. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." He reaches for Sam and pulls him in to his body. "Come over here and I'll show you how sure."

When he kisses Sam hot and hard, Sam decides that's his sign to stop arguing and just go with the flow.

A few more kisses later, followed by a few more rubs and bites and licks, this time mostly consisting of Bobby marking Sam's chest, they're back at the dock. Bobby turns away from Sam, his ice-coated palms bonding to the handholds more than gripping them, while Sam wraps his arms around him and kisses and bites his way along his upper back. While he's kissing, he brings his legs up so that his hips and thighs curve underneath Bobby's, placing his cock right below the space between Bobby's thighs.

He thrusts once, concentrating at first just on pressing into the strip of skin behind Bobby's balls; then he thrusts again, this time sliding up and over the lower part of Bobby's ass. The friction of both times makes him moan and he lowers his face into the crook of Bobby's neck, his mouth moving over Bobby's skin.

He moans some more when he thrusts again and pauses, only to have Bobby push back against him. He has to bite when that happens, but Bobby doesn't seem to mind. If anything, the way his legs move back in an attempt to intertwine with Sam's encourage Sam to do it some more.

Those first thrusts set up the beginnings of their rhythm, and soon Sam's cock is sliding over Bobby's skin faster and faster, his hands moving down from Bobby's torso to his hips to hold them more firmly seated in and against Sam's shifting lap. The motion can't help but start Sam thinking about fucking again, about slamming his cock deep inside Bobby's hole rather than just along the edges. It would be easy to do that now. One change of angle and he'd be _there_, feeling that skin and muscle grip him, in a way he hasn't for so long now.

But that's not what they're doing here and Sam forces himself to put those thoughts away. Instead, he tells himself to feel what he's doing now, the press of skin against his cock and his chest, the flesh moving under his mouth, that occasional tang of blood under his tongue.

The feel of Bobby's cock in his hand as they thrust against each other, the moan that tells him his lover is close. That if he just picks up the speed a bit, rubs here, pushes here, makes his hips snap, snap, snap.

Then he feels it, the slightly warm fluid in his hand.

And he responds by moving both hands back to Bobby's hips and slamming them into him as hard as he can. One, two, three, four times and Sam's groaning, panting, as he pulses and pushes the last of his orgasm out. His face falls forward against Bobby's neck again, and he leaves it there, sweat pooling under his cheek, as he tries to catch his breath.

A few seconds later and he's feeling cold fingers rubbing through his hair.

They feel good he thinks.

They feel like his lover, and that's all Sam cares about.

 


	6. Part Six of "Reciprocal Stupidity";  Iceman/Cannonball NC-17 slash

The trek up the hill and back to the mansion is quiet for both of them, the activities they've been engaged in added onto all of the recent fighting taking its toll. When they got back to the bank, Sam didn't even bother putting every bit of his uniform back on, choosing instead to carry it over his shoulder. They decided they could tell anyone they run into that they burned off some tension by going swimming. God knows they're both wet enough for that at the moment.

They still have to talk and work some things out. They both know that they can't continue to play things by ear the way they have, to count on their friendship getting them through this. Sooner or later, one of them is going to trespass, cross a line into unknown territory, and they need to sit down and line off those places before they both end up somewhere they're unable to come back from.

Right now though, they're thinking this is pretty good. Bobby could still panic and decide that he was crazy to let go and do this, and Sam could still lose Bobby the same way he lost Nathan.

(Will lose actually, seeing as how he's the immortal, but he's never let that matter. He's not going to let it matter now.)

But it doesn't make any sense to be dwelling on these things before they happen. It would be stupid to let these fears ruin what they have, and if there's one thing they're already in agreement on, it's that they're both working very hard not to be stupid anymore. Even if that is more easily said than done.

It's not going to stop them from trying though.

No matter how foolish it is.

Fin.


End file.
